


Silver and Gold

by burlesque_articulation



Category: Borderlands
Genre: M/M, arranged marrige (attempt), content warnings at the beginning of chapters, silver&gold au, steampunk verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7467363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesque_articulation/pseuds/burlesque_articulation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both had socially constructed reputations to uphold. One was said to be the pampered and unbounded son from a family of old money, and the other an eccentric billionaire out to amass a greater fortune than the one his name would suggest he already had. One would hope mutual attraction played a deciding factor in an untimely marriage arrangement between the two, but then where’s the story in that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Taken straight from my tumblr where it seemed pretty popular, so I figured I may as well toss it over here too :3c  
> Anyhow, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 03/01/2017: Hah, made some minor tweaks, such as fixing Rhys' surname finally. Expect some changes in the next few chapters soon as well. Cheers! ( ^w^ )

“Oh yes, and have you met my son yet? Rhys is his name, and I’m sure he’d just love to meet you, he’s also quite the charmer.” The hostess tittered to his left where she had their arms linked candidly while she lead him through her well-kept city home; no doubt only a fraction as impressive as whatever house the Surette family claimed residency to in the countryside.   
  
Now, while it was a tad uncommon for people to attempt to force a spark between Jack Hanson and their sons, nothing really came to the man’s surprise anymore. “Do show the way then.” He settled, and almost as if on some choreographed cue, a rather stunning young man appeared at the top of the grand oak staircase, looking out over the well-dressed crowd before his eyes fell onto his mother’s waving figure. Jack was almost certain he caught an exasperated eye-roll when the younger man caught sight of Jack with his arm linked with the youth’s mother’s; that is before a polite smile adorned his porcelain face. The brunet paused on the second step, clearly trying their best to avoid being rude by allowing their gaze to remain on Jack for too long.   
  
“Oh, Rhys, darling, we were just talking about you! I’d like for you to meet your father’s most recent investment, Mr. John Hanson.” The woman chattered in a bubbly voice.   
  
Jack’s smile diminished a bit over the introduction. “Please, call me Jack,” he tried his best retain a warm smile while extending a hand to the other man.   
  
The brunet- Rhys- eyed the outstretched hand before replying. “Mm, may I say it’s a pleasure to finally put a face to your name. After all, I’ve been hearing so much about you as of late, Mr. Hanson.” He lifted a well manicured hand, but held it out in a way that meant if Jack really wanted a handshake, he’d have to come to Rhys for it.   
  
Intrigue made a home in the corner of Jack’s mind over all the little things that he was being presented with about this individual. “Oh, I’m sure the pleasure is all mine,” he responded in kind, taking a step up and enclosing Rhys’ hand in his own. It was certainly a far cry more slender, but not necessarily smaller. Jack found himself not shaking the hand, but rather soon holding it in his own as he would a lady’s upon greeting. Making eye contact again he said, “I really must say, I feel as though I should be placing a kiss on a hand like this rather than shaking it, but I’d hate to risk causing a scene.”   
  
Rhys hummed lightly in the back of his throat as he tilted his head ever so slightly, never once breaking the line of eye contact, even as his mother seemed to shift, or rather, tense where she stood to the side. “My dear Mr. Hanson, surely a man of your status could do any number of far more obscene acts, and people such as the ones in attendance here would do nothing more than stand back and thank you for going through the trouble of gracing them with your presence.”   
  
Despite the sharp intake of breath from the woman to his left, Jack openly laughed at this, shaking his head for a moment before bringing the soft skin of Rhys’ hand to his lips, never taking his eyes away from Rhys’. He was somehow finding himself lost in the difference of colour; the soft brown to the impossible blue. “Right you are, Mr. Rhys Surette.”   
  
A genuine smile seemed to finally grace those perfect lips as Rhys said, “please, just call me Mr. Surette.”   
  
His mother seemed to find that backhanded comment worthy of a light smack on the shoulder as she shook her head dotingly at him. “I swear, you’d almost think I never taught him any proper manners!” She gave an elaborate sigh.   
  
Jack released Rhys’ hand, stepping back down from the stairs and waved off what seemed to be the woman’s impending hysteria, “it is completely fine, Mrs. Surette, I took no ill-meaning from it, and I’m certain none was meant.” After that, he turned his attention back to the man in front of him, “but I do feel you and I should better acquaint ourselves with one another,  _ Rhys _ .”


	2. How Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Drinking
> 
> 03/01/2017: Lots of changes to this chapter because when I first uploaded it- I actually uploaded the wrong version of it. The many cons to rewriting chapters a dozen times! Anyhow, enjoy!

Normally, the morning after any party, Rhys wouldn't have been caught dead out of his room before at least 2 o’clock in the afternoon. But the smell of fennel tea had him out of bed at the ungodly hour of 1:45. Only chamomile could have had him more decently dressed, and not trolloping down to the dining room with a half-empty bottle in hand.

The smell was strongest just outside the dining room, where the pocket doors were ajar just enough for it to waft out and through the home. He could hear the clinking of a teapot spout against the lip of a glass, and the pouring of tea. Of course he could only hear all this because he was leaning against the frame of the pocket doors for support as he took a well deserved drink from his bottle before gracing his parents with his presence.

“Mother, Father, you're both up particularly early, and is that fennel I smell? I wonder, what’s the occasion? Perhaps Brother sent word that he’s coming home, hm?” Rhys barely got out his little hum before snorting back a hiccup as he leaned against the back of the chair that already seemed prepared for him with a placemat and fresh bottle of chardonnay. What was the occasion indeed.

“No, Rhys, now sit down before you fall down.” His father, Edmond Surette, said when Rhys didn't seem particularly keen to take his designated seat.

With an asinine smile, Rhys obeyed. Admittedly, his father had been right about the falling down part as Rhys nearly toppled out of the chair when he plunked himself down with a touch too much force. Straightening up and clearing his throat, Rhys gingerly placed his near empty bottle down beside the yet to be opened one, and sat forward. Lacing his fingers together in front of him he asked, “so what  _ is _ the occasion then?”

Mr. Surette sat at the opposite head of the oblong oak table, avoiding Rhys’ eye like he always did, picking at the breakfast in front of him. His wife, Hailey Surette, straightened in her own seat to his right, clearing her throat with an added pitch to draw Rhys’ attention. “It seems you did a lovely job of entertaining our prime guest last night, Rhys. We don't care to hear details, but it seems you really have caught the attention of Mr. Hanson.”

During her boring spiel, Rhys fancied finishing off the bottle; that he was fairly certain he’d retired with the night prior, and was now going about prying the cork off the new bottle. “Finely chilled legumes, mother. Is there a point to any of what you've just said?” Rhys made sure to met her eye as the cork came free with a satisfying pop.

Mrs. Surette’s eyes narrowed in irritation at Rhys’ display of arrogance. “A proposal has been put together. The marriage between yourself and Mr. Hanson has been...  _ somewhat _ agreed upon.”

Rhys was in the act of draining his fresh bottle, doing a reverse Jesus of drinking wine like it were water when his mother’s words made it to his stalled brain. “So… what you're saying is, I barely spent more than an hour in his company and suddenly it’s been decided that we’re to be married?” The bottle made a dull clanking sound against the table as Rhys made no effort to hide his displeasure at this news.

His mother pinned him with a cold look, “not  _ exactly _ . The gentleman that Mr. Hanson is, he was very adamant about making sure he spent time with you at least once more before he would agree to set anything in stone.”

Rhys sat back in his chair, fiddling with the neck of the wine bottle as he allowed this to marinate in his mind. “Is that so?” It was rhetorical of course, and his mother knew that, so she had no problem with continuing on as if he’d said nothing at all. That was fine; Rhys was content to continue his drinking as she resumed.

“Later today he’ll be stopping by again to see you specifically. Do your best to make another charming, if not a little less indecent, impression,” she said as if it were a suggestion. Rhys knew it wasn’t. She was telling him to be a good little boy and make sure that things turned out nice and lovely for mummy and daddy. His eyes wandered around the dining room in hopes that there was a wine bottle hidden somewhere nearby. This one was getting a bit on the  _ empty _ side “ _ Rhys _ .”

His eyes snapped back to the pair at the opposite end of the table. His father’s strong features were expressionless, his mother’s were cold, calculating; and perhaps just a bit resentful of the fact that it was barely two in the afternoon and her son was already well on his way to being wasted. “I hear you loud and clear, ma’am.” Perhaps a bottle or two on an empty stomach hadn’t been such a wonderful idea after all; Rhys was beginning to feel a bit nauseous.

A careful expression graced his mother’s round face as she narrowed her gaze upon him. “Good.” The signal that Rhys was dismissed to go back to his bed chambers to prepare himself. Luckily he managed to get out of the dining room before he started to stumble.

As he dragged himself up to his rooms, he elected to lie on his bed for a time before truly starting the procedure of  _ beautifying _ himself. He barely knew this John- no,  _ Jack _ , that’s what he went by, wasn’t it? He barely knew Jack Hanson, but he already resented him. Since when had anyone cared for Rhys’ opinion anyways? Besides, this meeting would just prove to be a waste of time for both of them. Rhys would present himself to be the perfect, eloquent son of a nobleman, and Mr. Hanson would turn out to be a completely gim-crack, and now unlike any other time, it seemed Rhys would have to live with that for a long time since the apparent goal here was  _ legitimate _ marriage.

Rhys burrowed his face into the countless feather pillows that adorned his bed as the headache from the hangover he’d acquired from the drinking he’d done the previous night managed to snake its way through the drunken daze Rhys had been trying to build up again. Perfect.

He eventually started losing time as he continued to lay face down, eyes fluttering shut at some point, and despite his growing aversions, Rhys still found his thoughts traveling toward his father’s “newest investment”, as his mother might have put it in her introduction of the man the night prior.

Jack Hanson was a relatively young; in comparison to others of his status, businessman who had made it big a few years ago and had taken what was found to be a small company and turned it into a booming industry that focused on steam powered mechanisms that would be both reliable and affordable to the masses. A man with a name that had noble connotations, yet he carried himself like new money. Probably the reason Rhys’ parents had been so eager to set something up between himself and Mr. Hanson. Still, his parents had never gone so far as to ever set Rhys up with someone for engagement purposes… the man must truly be something of interest if Mrs. Surette was prepared to see Rhys marry them. Or maybe it was because Rhys was getting too old to continue his usual family work. Flip a coin, perhaps.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” a voice grumbled, breaking through his drunken stupor. “You’re not seriously still in bed, are you?”

A small smile spread across his lips as he lazily raised a hand in greeting before letting it flop back down against the bed. “Mornin’ Fi.”

“Afternoon, Rhys.” Fiona snapped, her voice followed by the sound of his bedroom door being carefully closed. “Seriously, I don’t know what drives you to push your luck. One of these days it’s going to be your mother with an ice bucket instead of me.”

Rhys found himself rolling his eyes, despite them one; being closed, and two; his face being pressed into the pillows so Fiona wouldn’t have been able to see it the first place. “Have no worries, I’ve already had a morning chat with my dearest mother.”

There was a full moment’s pause before a response came. “My apologies, but it sounded like you just said that you not only were up and moving before three in the afternoon, but that you somehow also managed to find your way back to your room; on your own,” there was no hiding the mock surprise in Fiona’s tone as she was no doubt going about Rhys’ room straightening it up.

“You make me sound like I’m incapable of doing anything for myself when you talk like that,” he said with a hint of humour, Fiona chuckling a bit at the statement’s irony, “but ignoring your harsh statements, would you be able to tell me if there was a man here early this morning?”

“Ahh…” Fiona took a moment before responding, “Yes, yes there was. A man came by around nine, why?”

Rhys mused silently for a moment before turning on his side, eyes remaining closed as he asked, “do you know when they left by chance, or stayed for tea?”

Fiona sighed, sounding like she was somewhere near Rhys’ wardrobe. “Some time around… twelve I think it was… and no, I don't think so. Why does it matter? Are you curious to know if I overheard anything too?”

A single eyelid peeled open, “did you overhear anything?”

Rhys managed to catch a blurry smirk cross the maid’s lips as she shook her head, “no, Sasha might’ve, but I was too busy doing actual work, unlike a particular pampered princess I know.”

Rhys snorted, rolling back onto his face. “You know, you really shouldn’t speak about my mother in that tone.”

“Hey, she doesn’t pay me to be respectful; she pays me to keep the townhouse in order,” Fiona scoffed, then Rhys felt her prodding at his side, “so are you retiring for the night, or should I go have Sasha fix you up some coffee?”

Rhys hummed softly, pushing himself up onto his knees, his head spinning as he replied, “Coffee, yes. I need to freshen up for… I have a meeting of sorts later… or something,” Rhys pressed the heel of his hand to the temple of his right eye, massaging it carefully as he fought the urge to just drop back down and curl up underneath his blankets and actually retire for the night instead. That would be a lovely option, wouldn’t it? “Another bottle would be great too,” he added quickly before Fiona could slip out of the room.

She paused at the door, clearly contemplating whether she should voice her distaste for Rhys’ habit, but if there was anything she would show tolerance for, it was Rhys’ drinking. Fiona always admitted it was better than other alternatives. “If you insist,” she nodded before making her exit.

Rhys waited until he heard her footsteps fade away before he swallowed dryly. Scooting off his bed, he steadied himself on the bedpost for a time before he trusted his legs to carry him toward the on suite bathroom. In hindsight, he probably should’ve asked Fiona to run him a bath before she left. Out of all the things he’d been forced to learn to do himself that most nobles couldn’t even fathom having to do for themselves, why hadn’t running himself a bath been among them?

He stared at the ornate brass knobs and the clockwork designs, but his mind just blanked when it came to even considering what he was supposed to do with any of them. How could he be so useless?

By the time Fiona finally returned, and after some searching, found Rhys had come into the bathroom. Rhys had completely given up; in multiple senses of the word, and had taken to lying in the large tub completely clothed and half asleep. “Alright, if you’re not up and out of there this instant, I’m dumping the wine out the window and the coffee will go down over you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Gim-crack' basically translates to 'showy, but useless'.


	3. Dressed for Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: social drinking, risqué content
> 
> 03/01/2017: editing editing editing and very litte caffeine. RIP Me :p

Jack Hanson wasn’t sure exactly what he should’ve taken from the mildly concerned expression that graced the maid’s face when she opened the door for him. She offered to take his coat and cane somewhat hesitantly as well after he entered, however before Jack could lay down a line of questioning on the girl, bare feet made light pattering sounds on the grand staircase that took focus in the foyer of the home. Rhys Surette stood in nothing more than a flowing, satin bathrobe, with still damp hair and a flustered expression as he greeted Jack.

“My sincerest apologies for not being more decently dressed, Mr. Hanson,” the youth smiled politely as he took careful steps down to the ground floor, “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you to be here so… soon.”

Jack’s eyes sought out the large grandfather clock at the top of the first landing of the staircase, making a small gesture towards it, “five o’clock on the dot was the time, was it not?”

Rhys paused, and then smiled serenely. “Ah yes, indeed it was. It’s really my fault for not taking you as one who would be so punctual, I suppose.” Jack wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but the inflections in Rhys’ tone, the way he pursed his lips, it all told him that Rhys clearly hadn’t been aware exactly what time this meeting of theirs’ was meant to be. “No matter, if things go to my parent’s delight, you’ll soon be seeing me in far less anyways, so shall we take to the drawing room?” He asked, but as he moved past Jack; with little regard for his attire, it was clear Jack really wasn’t getting an option.

Still, he found himself off-balanced by Rhys’ behaviour; or perhaps he held more of a fascination for him because of it. “That is… certainly the last sentence I was expecting to hear today,” Jack made mentioned as he followed after the other man, the maid bowing her head respectfully before departing in the opposite direction.

Rhys paused just outside the sitting room, pressing the tips of his fingers to his lips as he turned toward Jack, “oh my, yes… that was ever so indecent of me to say, wasn’t it?” he gave a breathy laugh, “ah, and after my mother insisted I not say anything too obscene.” He paused long enough for his eyes to travel up to meet with Jack’s, “surely you won’t mention this to her?”

“I can guarantee my lips are sealed, kitten.” Jack said catching the curve of the youth’s lips from behind their fingertips as their eyes darted to inspect Jack’s own as if to make sure they could be trusted, before regaining eye contact.

“Then we proceed,”  Rhys hummed; turning to slide open the dual pocket doors that lead into a smaller drawing room then the one Jack had visited in early that morning. “If I may, I really do need to ask what would possess a man such as you to humour the silly whims of my parents.”

Jack was content to find that Rhys didn’t plan to beat around the bush as they took seats opposite one another, Jack sitting in the middle of a burgundy loveseat and Rhys sitting with his legs curled to the side on a lounger positioned sidewise for that exact purpose; he supposed. “Whoever said it was I doing the humouring?” Jack was all too pleased to see his words having an effect on the youth, who blinked in tame surprise, but it wasn’t long before his features smoothed out again.

“Mm,” he mused in a quiet voice, a clearly implying his disbelief by giving no further reaction as he changed topics. “Would you care for a glass?” Rhys gestured to the wine bottle and glass pair that were set out neatly on the coffee table between them.

Jack nodded, shifting his position only long enough to reach for the offered glass before sitting back again, one foot placed on the opposing knee as he inspected the wine before tasting. “Hmm, I have always preferred the reds to the whites,” he said.

Rhys eyed him briefly as he clearly filled his glass more than what was socially expected, nearly spilling the red liquor over the lip of the glass. “I find them all too woody for my taste to be completely honest,” he sighed, yet still took a long sip, not even bothering with the proper etiquette, similar to how he’d gone about it when Jack had spent his brief time with him in the garden the night prior. “But in the end, as long as it does its job, who am I to turn it down?”

Jack tilted his head, still trying to place Rhys somewhere among the large spectrum of people he’d met in his lifetime. It was proving harder than he thought it would. “Cheers to that, I suppose,” Jack said as he took a sip from his own glass, never once letting his gaze lift from the younger man. There was just something so oddly mystifying about him, and it wasn’t just his obvious fancy for drinking.

Rhys swirled the liquid around his own glass, seeming to be too preoccupied with doing so to ever return Jack’s glances. “Mm. So tell me, Mr. Hanson, what exactly is the purpose of this?”

Jack swallowed the wine he had in his mouth before sitting forward and placing his barely touched drink down, “purpose of what exactly?”

Rhys finally made eye contact, shooting Jack a dry look. “This meeting between the two of us; did you have any specific goal in mind when you insisted on having it occur?”

“I’m not sure I follow your meaning.”

Rhys’ eyes darted back to his glass as he continued to swirl it, round and round, “well, I’m simply curious as to what you hope to gain from this. Surely you’ve already taken a look at my family’s prospects, so I’m left to wonder what it is about me that would make you think it’s a good idea to get involved.” Even with his gaze hyper focused on his glass; he didn’t miss the way Mr. Hanson shifted in his seat. Someone clearly wasn’t expecting Rhys to mention that. But Rhys wasn't a complete idiot, even half-tanked as he was. There was no doubt that Mr. Hanson had looked over the Surette family’s paperwork; which was not up-to-date in any conceivable way, but there was no way Mr. Hanson would know that. And besides, that wasn't what was to be made point of here.

“Again it appears you’ve put me at a loss for words.” Mr. Hanson crossed his arms and seated himself back against the loveseat, a complicated expression crossing his strong features. “I am assuming you’re making reference to the fairly numerous faulty investments your father has made over the years that has without a doubt left a sizeable dent in your family’s resources.” Mr. Hanson left his sentence hanging, as if he had something else to say… but knew it didn't need to be said.

Rhys smiled politely yet again, nodding slightly. He was having troubles wrapping his head around Mr. Hanson's tone, but thought it best to continue as if he hadn't noticed. “Indeed I am. However, while that alone would constitute why my parents would be so… gung-ho, about a marriage between you and I, I simply cannot fathom what would have you on board with it.” Rhys began taking a long drink from his wine, allowing his gaze to wander just enough that he could still keep Mr. Hanson in his peripherals.

Mr. Hanson’s expression shifted, the peculiar white scar that adorned his face somehow adding to the intensity in his gaze, “that’s good to know.” Glass still to lips, Rhys paused, his mind temporarily blanking. Now what in the world did he mean by that? In the time it took Rhys to drag his gaze back to Mr. Hanson, the man had gotten up from where he’d been sitting and had effortlessly made his way over to Rhys where he know stood over him. Rhys held the glass away from his lips, fighting the urge to noticeably swallow as his breathing became slightly more erratic, the smell of expensive cologne mixed perfectly with coal smoke attacking his senses. Mr. Hanson laid one hand on the back of the lounger as he leaned his face down towards Rhys, Rhys trying his damndest not to break the eye contact as the other man’s lips came so temptingly close. “As for my intentions with this meeting; I am simply curious to know where you stand in regards to this whole affair.”

In an attempt to regain a hold on the situation, Rhys let out a small, self-imposing ‘hm’, before taking an undersized, yet lengthy sip of liquor. “What a courteous act for you to show consideration for my opinion on the matter.” Nailed it. Well, not exactly, as it turned out.

Mr. Hanson seemed to have no problem leaning in closer now that Rhys’ head was turned to the side, his mouth just close enough to Rhys’ right ear that he could feel Mr. Hanson’s breath across his jaw line. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Rhys found himself, yet again, caught off guard by this man, his head swimming; and not just because of the wine for once. Exactly who was supposed to be seducing… who…? Rhys turned his face parallel to Mr. Hanson’s, catching his eye with a slightly accusing, but curious expression. The older man’s brow creased slightly, a puzzled look gracing his face before it melted into one of wonderment. Mr. Hanson knew he’d been found out, but instead of being miffed, he seemed to be in complete awe. Rhys immediately stiffened, features becoming guarded as he eyed those two-toned eyes with a mix of complicated emotions.

Fortunately, before either one was forced to break the growing tension, the pocket doors of the drawing room were slid open by Sasha, who seemed to immediately realize her mistake of not knocking first when her eyes fell on the two men who were in a rather risqué position. It certainly didn’t help that Rhys was so damningly underdressed. “Oh, um…huh… excuse me, sirs, I… uh, I hope I’m not interrupting, I just-“

“Sasha, please, you weren’t interrupting a thing,” Rhys forced a gracious smile as Mr. Hanson straightened up, putting distance between Rhys and himself. “What is it?”

Sasha gave him a brief disbelieving look, but nodded anyways. “Oh, I just wanted to ask if your… guest was planning on staying for dinner.”

Rhys made a mental note to be extra kind to Sasha in the upcoming week as he gave his response. “No, no. In fact we were just finishing up and Mr. Hanson will soon be on his way out,” he said, standing up from the lounger and placing his glass down in a careful manner, all the while ignoring the stare Mr. Hanson was giving him.

Sasha gave a compliant nod before backing out of the room and pulling the pocket doors back to a close without another word. How Rhys wished he could make such a speedy exit as well. But alas, he wasn’t so lucky.

Though he began to move across the room simply to put more distance between himself and Mr. Hanson, the other man seemed to misread and before Rhys could get more than half a step, captured his arm in a firm, but surprisingly gentle, grip. “I’m afraid I really must insist that you give me your answer before I leave,” his tone lacked any kind of depth as he kept his eyes trained toward the ground.

Rhys had to admit, he didn’t enjoy the fact that most of his cards had been completely laid out on the table while this man’s motives remained a total mystery. But then, it didn’t matter what Rhys felt, did it? This was meant to be a business arrangement, so his personal feelings were irrelevant. As always, he was doing this for the benefit of someone else. “I’ll agree to this arrangement for the soul reason as I simply could not give any less of a damn.” A bold-faced lie, as he gave many damns; although it wasn’t for the marriage arrangement itself, but rather, the man instigating it.


	4. Blame the Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: drinking, self-harm, implied / physical abuse.
> 
> 03/01/2017: edited!

After Rhys saw Mr. Hanson to the door, he promptly returned to the drawing room just long enough to grab hold of the barely touched bottle of wine before retreating to his rooms. He had the bottle down half its original amount by the time he managed to stumble in. He had miscalculated, misjudged his target and now he had no idea where he stood. Mr. Hanson had been trying to play him for a fool.   
  
As Rhys paced his room, he wondered if it had worked- but of course it hadn’t. Rhys had caught him, and made it clear that those tactics could not work on him. Or was he mistaken? Perhaps the smitten looks he’d appropriated from the other man the night prior in the garden had all been a game on Mr. Hanson’s end. What if everything Rhys believed to be true about Mr. Hanson were merely a perfectly constructed smokescreen? What if all along he’d been being played?   
  
Rhys clenched his empty hand into a tight fist, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand as he ground his teeth. No. No, it wasn’t possible, now was it? Rhys would have noticed- would have seen through it before then; no it had to have just been recently. He stopped himself from dwelling further for a moment to take a long shaky swig, swallowing thickly as he tried to calm himself. But it appeared that was not on the agenda for the night as his last words to Mr. Hanson fleeted through his head.   
  
_ “I’ll agree to this arrangement for the soul reason as I simply could not give any less of a damn.” _   
  
He vacantly eyed the mirror that stood tall against the wall of his bedroom opposite the large bay window, dread seeping into his gut as he quickly squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn’t have said that. The moment he made clear he knew that Mr. Hanson had been trying to pull one over on him he should’ve changed his tactics, he should’ve stopped playing the suave, honest charmer card and went for something more… adaptable, something that would have made it seem like he was trying to even the playing field, or he should have at the very least given a straight answer to the question, a breathless ‘yes,’ perhaps? Rhys began feeling desperate as his head started spinning. The last thing he should have done was try to build a wall up.   
  
What if he really had been miscalculating the situation? If he had then there was no way he could determine the outcome his answer would have. And out of his own selfishness he had ignored everything in an attempt just to get himself away from the man. He pressed his empty hand to his mouth, trying with every ounce of his will power to steady himself, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t. What if he’d ruined everything? What was going to happen now? On instinct he sought out his reflection in the mirror, more specifically his right eye, in all its fake, silver stained glory, with a carefully painted on blue iris. It wasn’t like he could afford to lose his other eye, now could he?   
  
_ And it’s all because you couldn’t be a good boy. _   
  
No. No, no, there was no way it could be that bad. Surely he couldn’t have done anything as severe as to… the drink had him over thinking; overanalyzing. He would be fine. The wine was messing with him… it had to be… The pit in his stomach was slowly catching, turning into a boiling flame as anger took over; anger at himself for letting his mind get the better of him, anger at Mr. Hanson for whatever game he was playing at, anger at his parents, anger at his reflection, the wine, the-  **_Everything!_ **   
  
Rhys didn’t recall making the decision to throw the wine bottle, yet there it went, sailing across the room. He relished the sound of glass smashing upon glass, shards of mirror falling to the floor and shattering further, mixing with the red liquor. Rhys could only bask in his rash action for a few moments as he moved across the room to look down at his mess before he was on his knees, feverously trying to put the mirror back together; to soak up the wine before it stained, tears threatening to come out at the hopelessness of it all. Why did it always come down to him making a situation worse? Why couldn’t he just be the mindless doll his parent’s had tried so hard to make him be? Why couldn’t he just give it all up, his mind, his person, all of it, and just… Again, he’d gotten caught up in his own head, and his body had taken matters into its own hands- literally- as he kneeled crushing fragments of mirror in his clenched hands, nothing stopping the tears this time. I sniffled and sobbed pathetically as he tried to let go, but he only clenched tighter until finally he just started beating his fists against the floor, adding his own blood to the wine and glass.   
  
Indeterminable amounts of time slipped away, and by the time Fiona finally managed to make her way up to check on Rhys, he was laying on his side beside the mess he’d made, exhausted completely to the point he was genuinely curious how he was still able to put energy towards breathing. “Oh, my-” he didn’t even flinch when she nestled down behind his head, rolling him onto his back and cradling his head gently in her lap “- Rhys…” He stared vacantly towards the ceiling, not even sure he knew what he could say given the situation. Fiona sighed- what, dotingly? -as she looked over at the mirror, idly running her hands through his hair tenderly, “you know you’re supposed to drink the wine, right?”   
  
Rhys bit down on his lip before he spluttered out a choked laughed mixed with a weep escaped and he started crying again. “I always told you… I never much cared for the reds.”   
  
No pitying look graced her solemn face, and Rhys couldn’t have been more thankful. “Mm, especially when-“   
  
“They don’t do their job,” they finished in unison. Rhys forced himself to take slow calming breaths as he squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily taking peace from the quietness, and the soft feeling of Fiona’s hand being dragged through his hair in soft, constant strokes. “I’m sorry.”   
  
Fiona blew out a sigh, and though Rhys had closed his eyelids, he knew she was either shaking her head or rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Rhys. Gives me a reason to not be downstairs helping Sasha in the kitchen, doesn’t it?” She made it sound like she genuinely didn’t enjoy being down there, but Rhys knew better. He knew how much she enjoyed spending time in her sister’s company doing even the simplest of things. He felt sick, taking those moments away from her so often. They were moments he never had, and never could have now. “Oh, goodness…” she trailed off, and Rhys felt a calloused hand grace along one of his forearms. “That’s not wine or trick of the light, is it?”   
  
He weakly shook his head, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “I-“   
  
“Et, no, no. Let’s just get you up so I can take a look at you, silly doll,” Fiona dutifully cut him off, helping him carefully get into a sitting position as she scooted around to face him, taking both of his hands in her own, turning palms to the sky. “Oh, gracious, Rhys; were you playing in it like you were trying to make mud-pies?” She scolded, and despite knowing that Fiona probably didn’t mean it humorously Rhys allowed his lips to adapt the smallest of curves.   
  
“Where would I be without you, Fiona,” he stated, because he never once had to question the answer.

* * *

Rhys lay back in his bed wrapped in a fresh bathrobe, head still spinning, but no longer with any tangible thoughts as he held his arms up, examining his bandaged hands in front of his face. They stung more than anything he’d felt in a long time, but Rhys was under the impression it was less due to the glass Fiona had plucked out of him, and more due to the reeking white liquor she’d poured over them once she’d finished with that. Apparently it was a trick Felix, the head butler, had taught her, to help sterilize injuries such as his. He hadn’t complained, although he certainly made plenty of attempts to sneak a taste before Fiona finally slapped one of his hands and properly set him against trying again.   
  
One coherent thought managed to break through the clouds in his head, but it wasn’t much to his amusement. He merely speculated how long he would have until he would have to face his mother, and what she would think of his little… tantrum. His parents had conveniently taken off to their family’s country home to ‘check on things’ shortly after Rhys had had his little meeting with them that morning. If he was lucky, they’d be gone at least for the night, and back by the afternoon. However, Rhys wasn’t surprised to find that wouldn’t be the case.   
  
What did have him surprised was that it was Felix who came to his door to fetch him, using small sentences to explain his parents arrived and they requested his presence. He said nothing more, and patiently waited for Rhys to exit his room and head down the stairs before following down after. His mother and father were still standing in the foyer when Rhys carefully made his way down the staircase, hesitant, and trying his damndest not trip on thin air despite how light-headed he was.   
  
“Mother, Father, what a pleasant surprise,” he greeted, perhaps a little too sweetly as his mother’s features immediately darkened as he descended the stairs, “I do hope you found your excursion satisfying.”   
  
The moment his feet touched the ground floor and he stood in front of his mother, she slapped him across his face, and it was only this close that he could see just how positively fuming she was. “What did you do?” Her voice was cold, and there was a strong underlying tone of uncertain anger.   
  
Rhys kept his reddening cheek faced toward her as he stared at the ground, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, ma’am.”   
  
“What happened between you and Mr. Hanson?”   
  
The sound of his father’s voice brought Rhys’ gaze back up, but he quickly hide himself behind a nonchalant shrug. “We discussed a few things, but ultimately he merely wanted to know what my opinion was.” How wild was that, someone actually asking what Rhys thought.   
  
“And what was your opinion, exactly?”   
  
That I couldn’t have cared less for it all. “I made it clear that I was not against the idea.”   
  
His mother scoffed and began pacing back and forth, her perfectly fitted heels making precise clicks against the cold floor. “So you didn’t say ‘yes’, is that what you’re telling us?”   
  
Rhys couldn’t help fighting the tick that was at work in his jaw now as he took a step back, exhaling slowly. “I suppose you could say that; why? Would it really be such a terrible thing if I let this one slip away?”   
  
When Mrs. Surette’s eyes rested upon him again, they were furious, and Rhys was certain that if it were not for her husband’s hand finding itself upon her shoulder, Rhys’ hands would surely have been the least of his worries. Mr. Surette squeezed her shoulder reassuringly once, maybe twice, and managed to calm her down enough that she was able to take a deep breath and adopt a less threatening stance. “Ignoring that completely-” Rhys wasn’t sure if that was meant to harm him in some way, but if it was, then she was seriously losing her touch, “- I suppose you can’t be considered a complete failure. Mr. Hanson contacted us and insisted that things had not gone quite as he planned, and he’s requested that he see for dinner tomorrow night. Perhaps this time you won’t let your ego get the better of you.”   
  
Rhys dragged his tongue over his teeth, unable to stop himself as he said, “because surely there aren’t any number of other eligible nobles you wouldn’t mind whoring me off on instead.”   
  
Rhys had been expecting another slap at the least; he soon dreaded that that wasn’t what he received. A very precise smile quirked his mother’s lips as she stood with her hands clasped in front of her petite frame. “Vallory, darling, would he escort my son to his room; his… special room.” Rhys’ eyes darted to the tall, imposing woman he somehow had not even noticed entering behind his parents. Vallory had been his mother’s personal maid for as long as he could remember, and from what he could gather, if his mother said ‘jump’, the woman would reply ‘and how many should I kill on the way back down’. “It seems my son still fancies the drink, and he’ll need to be sober for his little dinner tomorrow.”

Rhys refused to give his mother the satisfaction of having Vallory need to drag him to the room that was on the same wing as the servant’s quarters. Rhys was perfectly capable of stumbling there himself; all the while cursing himself for not taking advantage of that damn red wine when he’d had it. Once he was inside that room, it was just going to be him and some rather nasty headaches and some severe withdrawal symptoms.


	5. A Crone's Humour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: vomiting, [implied] attempted suicide – please let me know if I may have missed something.
> 
> 03/01/2017: and another one bites the dust ;)

**** He had always preferred having small moments of clarity interspersed with days of intoxication, to being sober and forced to deal with all of his mental problems and general flaws as a person. He  _ liked _ having his escape; but when you’ve been a bad boy you don’t deserve distractions.   
  
The first three hours locked inside the small room had gone by quickly, and soon he found himself pulling out of the warm arms of his alcohol-induced respite from sobriety. Six to seven hours of intense nausea, headaches, unenviable aches and pains everywhere, and having cold sweats breaking out all over him would be his ‘grace period’ before being faced with his own self-awareness. If he would even be able to live through it, that is.   
  
He had managed maybe four hours into his ‘grace period’ before the need to vomit over threw his ability to ignore. Rhys dragged himself from the small bed, half-crawling, half-hobbling towards the small ensuite bathroom. He completely missed the toilet and ended up hanging over the lip of the tub, wrenching up red wine, stomach acid, and little else.   
  
_ This is what you get. _   
  
Rhys breathed heavily through his nose as he watched the expelled stomach contents pool towards the drain, the sound of it gurgling down doing very little to stop him from going for another round of heaving. Rhys carefully pulled himself along the side of the tub towards the brass knobs that he somewhat knew what to do with now since he’d managed to pay just the slightest attention when Fiona had ran him a bath that morning.   
  
He rotated the knob maybe just a touch to much because after a short pause, water came spewing out of the tap at an alarming amount that made Rhys gasp and fall back from the tub. Though he managed to calm his heart, his head was a lost cause as it ached and throbbed more viciously then it had before from the added shock. Gritting his teeth, angry at himself, he inched back over to bath and turned off the water. He rested his head against the tub, closing his eyes and focusing only on his breathing, when somewhere through the mess that was his head, the idea of taking a bath came.   
  
What a splendid idea! Why shouldn’t he just hop right into the tub while in a state of complete delirium? He shouldn’t honestly, but after having the common sense of trashing through the small cupboard under the sink for a bath plug, what was the point in stopping now? His tongue moved across his lips in an effort to wet them, but since his mouth was about as dry as a desert, it was to no avail as he hoisted himself to his feet, swaying over the tub.   
  
_ For goodness sake, at least take off your bathrobe. _   
  
He did just that, slipping off the fabric before falling into the tub, a tangle of legs and the possibility of a new bruise across his collarbone. He slipped around, eventually managing to sit up, leaning forward, chest supported by his knees as his fingers fumbled numbly with the brass knobs one more time. He had no idea which one did what in terms of what the water’s temperature would be, so he turned them both; far more carefully than last time, and flexed one pale, bony foot under the water that poured out of the tap. He sat like that, experimenting with the knobs for a while until he found what was, in his opinion, the most therapeutic temperature of water he’d ever felt across his skin.   
  
Groping around the tub, his fingers eventually found the plug that he’d dropped after toppling in. Cramming it over the drain, he attempted to carefully lay himself back. He soon found that this tub was a far cry smaller than the one he was used to as he rolled onto his right side, facing his back to the wall, his legs bunching up at the end of the bath. He managed to scrunch himself down enough that barely the top of his head would be seen; if someone were looking at him from the same height that the lip of the tub stood. His head still throbbed something awful, and his entire body ached, but there was something so calming about the sound of the water flooding out of the tap… the water slowly raising to envelope his body… the coolness of the bath against his cheek… the steam coming off from the heated water… Rhys let out a long winded sigh as his eyelids drooped closed…   
  
Rhys could admit with complete certainty that if it weren’t for the hand that plunged into the bath to grab hold of his hair and pull him up, he wouldn’t have woken in time. When he was dragged up, and his chest hit the lip of the tub, he immediately began sputtering, until eventually vomiting on the floor of the bathroom, the contents of his stomach being splashed away as soon as it hit the floor as the large woman standing over him continued to pull him out of the tub, swearing the entire time.   
  
“Stupid, stupid boy. Quicker ways than that,” she scolded, switching her hold to lift him up from under his armpits. He didn’t manage to stay conscious long enough to hear anything else she might’ve said.   
  
When he came to again, he was sitting upright, the sash of his bathrobe tying him to the headboard of the bed to keep him upright. It was a trick Fiona had used once when he’d gotten ill from food poisoning a few years back and didn’t have the energy to sit up on his own. However this time was very different from then. For example, he was not in his own bed, and it wasn’t Fiona sitting beside his bed talking gently to him while a gentle summer breeze found its way in through a large, open window.   
  
No, instead it was a scarred, daunting old woman with a gruff stare and a voice that could scare the toughest of men out of a dead sleep when she yelled, and there was only one small window in the room, and certainly no kind words being spoken in his favour. He stiffened immediately at the sight of her sitting so close, and with his injured hands unwrapped and laid out of her inspection. When he attempted to move them, to inch away from her demanding presence, she sent him a meaningful death glare, freezing him. “I’m not in the mood to play games, boy.”   
  
Rhys swallowed dryly, but nonetheless, placed his hands back on his lap, palms up for her inspection.   
  
Vallory took one in her own hands with an unexpected softness as she brushed one thumb lightly over the cuts. Not enough to make Rhys wince, but enough to make his face twitch a bit. “I take it the girl is the one that cleaned you up?”   
  
Rhys frowned, still not trusting the care the woman was showing him, “Fiona did.”   
  
“Mm. She didn’t do a bad job. Might have overdone it with the moonshine a bit, but it should make finding anything she might’ve missed easier to find.”   
  
“Missed?” That was when he noticed that Vallory had pulled the nightstand over beside her and set it up with what appeared to be a pretty heavy-duty first aid kit. “Wait, I-”   
  
“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you more than what’s necessary. Besides, if you want these to heal right you’ve gotta make sure all of it’s out of ‘ya.” She cut him off, reaching a hand over her chest to wear a pair of spectacles hung around her neck, placing them on the tip of her nose as she squinted down at his hands.   
  
“Maybe I don’t care for them to heal at all.”   
  
Vallory snorted, shaking her head. “Well the sooner they heal the less likely you’ll face your mother’s wraith for damaging yourself in the first place.”   
  
Rhys pouted his lips slightly, brow still severely creased. “Why do you care anyways?”   
  
Vallory let out a small exhale, reaching over her one arm to pick up a pair of tweezers before she started lightly prodding at Rhys’ skin. “It’s one thing to punish a child for being in the wrong; it’s another for doing it out of one’s own desire to see someone injured.”   
  
Rhys watched with a tiny hint of curiosity at what the woman was doing, his mind confused by her statement. “I don’t think I understand.” He hissed involuntarily when she poked at a certain spot.   
  
Vallory gauged his reaction before taking the tweezers to his skin, causing him an amount of pain before she managed to withdraw a small piece of mirror from the meat of his hand. “It means she had no right to come at you like that in the foyer.”   
  
Rhys’ eyebrows rose in genuine surprise before he just snorted, laughing a bit at this. “I don’t think you understand the situation then. I made a mistake, Vallory, therefore it’s the same as punishing a child for being in the wrong, is it not?” While yes, it could be argued that Rhys wasn’t technically a child anymore, as long as he lived with his parent’s unmarried, he was no better than furniture to them. Property, if that’s easier to understand.   
  
It was now Vallory’s turn to give him a shocked look. “And exactly what was this mistake you made?”   
  
Rhys’ jaw tightened as he looked away, “I didn’t say yes. I let my mouth lead the situation instead of my head and now it’s very likely that Mr. Hanson will be done with me.” Not that Rhys really understood why that exactly mattered. Of course Mr. Hanson was all the rage among polite society due to how he’d been advancing the steam industries, but it was not as if his family would face backlash from a fail marriage proposal. Mr. Hanson was a big name; no one would shame the Surette’s for aiming so high and failing to succeed.   
  
“And that’s where you are very wrong, boy.” Vallory said, completely unfazed by Rhys’ implications. “I’m not surprised, to be honest. You nobles never do know when someone is being genuine or not, always playing your games, expecting a lie, or at best a half-truth that when you’re faced with the real deal you turn your nose up at it. But in the underworld, you learn fast to tell what’s fake and what isn’t, and there isn’t a word that man said that was fake.”   
  
Rhys returned his gaze to her, a mix of complexity and anger. What exactly was she trying to say? “Could you be so kind as to clarify what you mean?”   
  
“You’ve got him smitten with you, Rhys. Whatever it was you said to him has him on the edge of his seat waiting to know the truth of it.”   
  
“All I said was that I didn’t care.”   
  
Vallory huffed, a half-smile peeking across her horrendously scarred face. “And I ‘magine he could ‘a caught wind of that lie from a mile away.”   
  
“It wasn’t a lie,” Rhys imposed, perhaps a tad too defensively. He sucked his teeth, looking away again. The fact this woman, someone Rhys had never paid more than half a cent of attention to before was dragging him and calling him out like this in his own home had him deeply perturbed. “Besides, ‘smitten’ is surely to strong a word.”   
  
“Infatuated sound better, than does it?”   
  
It was certainly less heavy, but it still left Rhys feeling… odd. If that were true then why would Mr. Hanson go through the trouble of setting up a dinner? Why not just have at it, and set the proposal in stone? Unless what Vallory said was true… Perhaps Mr. Hanson wanted a genuine answer, and wouldn’t accept anything less than a yes? Caught up in the inner turmoil, he yelped as he felt tweezers digging into his flesh again.   
  
Vallory made no attempt to apologize for the unnecessary amount of roughness she’d used as she pulled out another piece of mirror. “So what do you intend to do?”   
  
It was a very good question, and certainly wasn’t one Rhys was in the position to answer. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “If Mr. Hanson truly is… smitten, as you say, then it makes everything so much more…” the word he needed was ‘simple’, but he would’ve been an outright lie.   
  
“Difficult.”   
  
“Yes.” Rhys exhaled, leaning his head back as Vallory seemed to content with his left hand, and ready to move on to his right hand. There was far more glass still present in that hand, and Rhys was near tears by the time she was done. “Thank you,” he managed to force out as she covered his hands in some kind of balm that burned a bit at first before making them feel soft, and cool instead.   
  
She didn’t look up as she started wrapping them carefully in fresh bandage. “No problem. You might want to see about fixing your make up though,” she said matter-of-factly. She clarified after receiving a questioning look from Rhys. “You’re starting to show through,” she added as she started clearing up her tools, fixing them back into her first aid kit before snapping it closed.   
  
Rhys blinked incomprehensibly for a moment longer before he let out a bitter snicker. “Thanks for the warning.”   
  
She gave another one of those decrepit smiles as she let out a long exhale, getting to her feet and towering over Rhys. “It’s a sad day when a young thing like you can appreciate an old crone’s sense of humour.”   
  
Rhys continued to smile slightly, if not just as bitterly. “I’m not nearly as young as I look, Vallory.”   
  
“A pity, I hear younger men sell faster.”   
  
Rhys sputtered out a genuine laugh at that, forcing a hand over his stomach, the other to his chest as the laugh turned into a rusty cough. “Probably why my youth is the only part of me everyone seems so keen on saving,” he tossed back.   
  
Vallory shook her head, but made no attempt to refute his point. Instead she silently moved the chair back against the wall next to a small circle oak table, which now that Rhys was looking at it, could tell it had a tray set on it with food and water. Presumably, at least; there was always the chance that maybe someone had the bright idea to sneak him wine. Vallory switched the first aid kit on the night stand with the tray, dragging it over so it sat within Rhys’ reach. “If you can’t feed yourself, I’ll have Felix come in here and help you; I’m not a wet-nurse anymore.”   
  
Rhys arched a brow at her, slowly shifting himself enough to loosen the belt a bit that still kept him upright against the headboard of the bed. “You were a wet-nurse?”   
  
“Among other frightful things.” She nodded to the tray, “so do you think you can manage or not?”   
  
Rhys eyed it. Bread, jam- they were even kind enough to provide him a proper knife to spread it with- a glass of what was in fact just water, some fruit… “I should be fine, thank you.”   
  
Vallory seemed to board herself back up again, gaining an air that made one wish to vacate whatever area she stood in. She nodded in acknowledgement before making her exit. Rhys had no intentions of stopping her. From what he could tell by the glimpse of the hallway he got when she opened the door, it must have been late evening. He’d have most of tomorrow to recover before he’d have to… re-apply his makeup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're all caught up to everything I have uploaded on my tumblr! Adieu until next chapter <3


	6. Just a Formality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No CW apply.
> 
> 03/01/2017: oh we're so close to being done with editing!!! Yay!!!!

His mother must not have been aware that Vallory had grown fond of Rhys; otherwise he was certain she would have made sure the woman would never be put in his presence again. That being said, in an effort to make things easier on Vallory, he fought with himself all night to keep down the food, and to drink all the water she gave to him. It resulted in him being up most of the night, too scared of vomiting in his sleep to allow his eyes to close for longer than a blink.   
  
He had also put time towards occasionally sitting up, or even walking around the room. He avoided any thoughts that skittered through his head to try the door, or make a run for the kitchen, or better yet, the wine cellar. He instead forced himself to enjoy the quietness of the room, and after some consideration, managed to force the small window open enough to let a small breeze blow in.   
  
The cool air did wonders against his skin that was burning as his body tried to sweat off all the hell he’d put it through. He found common ground by setting the small, circular table up in front of the window, and placing the chair in front of that, sitting down at just the right angle that the breeze would graze across his forehead when he rested his head against the table, his arms folded to make a mock pillow. It was only then that he allowed himself to find sleep.   
  
When he awoke, he didn’t feel the best, per say, but his body and mind were far more at ease than they had been in quite some time. Well, aside from the headache that still ached along the side of his head. But what exactly could one do about that? He stretched out his arms, resting his chin against the smooth oak as he looked out into the garden that took up the entire backyard of the town estate. How much he would give to be able to spend even just an hour among the flowers and exotic plants that were growing back there. If he didn’t feel so sluggish he was certain that he was slim enough to fit through the window.   
  
“You’re awake, yeah?”   
  
Rhys twitched at the sound of Vallory entering, his gaze drifting over to her. “Depends.”   
  
Vallory pinned him with an annoyed, but also inquisitive look. “Your mother has requested that you come down for breakfast before the hour ends.”   
  
Rhys nodded slowly before letting a small smile slide across his lips, “in that case I may still be unconscious for another hour.” Vallory seemed to have no qualms with walking over to him and giving him a smack upside the head; nothing that hurt too serious, just enough to jolt his head out of his own ass. He exhaled, pouting as he rested his chin in his hands, “sorry.”   
  
“I admit, I figured once you’d sobered off you’d know to be less bratty, and not to do anything that might inflict Her wraith.”   
  
Rhys sighed in defeat. The truth was it would be at least another day before he’d get used to not having his crutch within hands reach and finally reign in his tongue. “It will, once I’ve had a proper day of getting back into the swing of sobriety- oh right, I don’t even get a day, do I? What is it, maybe an hour before I’m to be whisked away?” His eyes were trained on the world outside the window, and he hoped that made it clear he wasn’t talking directly to Vallory. When she didn’t smack him again, he was able to relax.   
  
“I’ve no idea, but you might want to see about-”   
  
“Re-applying my makeup,” he said along with her, something he’d normally only do with Fiona, but he was far from being in the mood to be coy. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to paint myself nice and pretty before even daring to be in my mother’s company, something an intoxicated me could never fathom doing,” his lips twitched, but never actually falling into a smile as traced his fingers over the cheek his mother had slapped the night before. When no response came he sat back, nodding to himself, “mm, you’re right, that was far to self-deprecating, even for me, wasn’t it? Believe it or not, I’m actually trying  _ really _ hard to not act like this right now.”   
  
“I’d believe it. You’re head’s still not quite back on your shoulders. Wash up, I’ll leave something suitable out here waiting for you- that is of course assuming you’re capable of dressing yourself.”   
  
Rhys snorted, standing himself up and stretching out. “Yes, I am.”   
  
“Good, then once you’ve done that, please make sure you find your way down to the dining room. You will have twenty minutes before I come back and drag you down there myself.”   
  
“Alright; I suppose I shouldn’t take my sweet time freshening up then?”   
  
“No,” she responded curtly.   
  
–*–*–*–   
  
The last thing Rhys wished to see so early in the morning was his mother’s face. The last thing he wanted to see in the morning was pretty much everything in general, in all honesty. Yet he found himself making his way toward the dining room, dressed in perfectly fitting dark trousers, and crisp white dress shirt- he’d blatantly refused the vest when he saw the gilt layer across the otherwise dark material. He was not in the mood to humour his mother’s insistent desire to cover him in gold and parade him around like a pretty doll, especially in the privacy of his own home.   
  
“R- _ hys _ …” Her tone had begun light, even cheery until she got a good look at him and immediately noticed he was not wearing the vest. “How thoughtful of you to join us,” she finished dryly.   
  
_ Because I had the choice _ , he bit his tongue, instead smiling in faux politeness as he took his seat. “It’s always a pleasure to spend time with family.” He nodded a morning’s greeting to his father who sat directly opposite him at the far end of the table, Rhys’ mother sitting directly to his right. His father made no effort to send any kind of greeting back.   
  
“Indeed.” Mrs. Surette shared a glance with her husband before she looked down the table at Rhys, for once seeming to be pleasantly surprised to find that his gaze hadn’t already shifted in search of a wine bottle. “Well, I feel as though we should let you know that Mr. Hanson will be sending someone by for you at exactly 5 o’clock. He also insisted I make mention that the person plans on being punctual…”   
  
Rhys’ shoulders lifted slightly as he rolled his eyes. At least the man had a sense of humour. “Of course; is that all he had to say? No mentions of where I may be going, perhaps?”   
  
“His private estate,” both of his parents’ watched him keenly for his reaction.   
  
“Mm,” he hummed, shrugging a bit. “That shouldn’t be too hard to work with.” Tell them what they want to hear.   
  
His father sat back, his mother relaxing slightly as well. Were they expecting him to throw a tantrum or something? “Very good,” his mother smiled patronizingly.   
  
For all the doubt they showed in his ability to win a crowd over, they seemed rather dull to pick up on when he was flat out lying to them. Rhys was going to have to go to Mr. Hanson’s home, adorning some kind of mask, for an undetermined amount of time in an attempt to seal a deal he was never even meant to have a say in,  _ in the first place. _ What part of that sounded even remotely easy? Absolutely none of it was going to be easy. But still, Rhys continued to indulge his parents’ fragile expectations all throughout the meal, never once giving away the fact that he was positively seething with anxiety. What made it all worse was what Vallory had told him early. How does one play around with a smitten man without feeling an ounce of regret for it?   
  
–*–*–*–   
  
Rhys was in no way prepared when the coach arrived later that evening. Mentally, that is. Physically he’d been ready for over an hour. He was able to convince Vallory to ask Fiona for an outfit, instead of forcing him to wear whatever ghastly outfit his mother had planned. All her efforts to paint him as someone who loved to be showered in gold and diamonds failed miserably due to his complete and utter disgust towards both material objects. Luckily Fiona came to his aid by giving Vallory his favourite attire. Simple high-end wool trousers with a soft white blouse and a vest over top; he’d insisted that dressing himself up wouldn’t be necessary. His makeup wouldn’t match it.   
  
He made no effort to say goodbye to anyone, or make mention that he was departing. The sooner he was gone, the sooner he could be back and hopefully see the end of this whole charade. But something inside of him felt off the entire way there. His heart felt heavy in his chest, his limbs were numb, and breathing was something he felt he needed to constantly remind himself to do. He had no game plan, and he was terrified. Rhys still wasn’t entirely certain to what effect his words may have truly had on the man last time they were together, and what Vallory had to say on the matter did nothing to ease his troubles. And his mother still hasn't made any chamomile tea.   
  
Having spent the entire coach ride to Mr. Hanson’s manor within his own head, he hadn’t noticed that he’d been taken to the outskirts of the city. The coach finally came to halt outside of a fairly large manor that seemed somewhat mystical in the early evening light. Mr. Hanson appeared to have a fancy for ivy, as Rhys noted fairly large patches crawling their ways up along the sides, and even the front of the place. Or perhaps the man couldn’t be bothered to manicure them?   
  
The coachman seemed to double as a door man, as after the funny little man assisted Rhys from the carriage, he proceeded to be the one to hold the door of the manor open for Rhys. He wouldn’t be one to admit to it, but he found himself stopping a step inside the door as he soaked in his surroundings.   
  
There was no real foyer per say, but rather a long, wide hall that opened up at the end to what Rhys could tell would be a grand staircase. The walls were pristine white paneling; high arches with golden spirals and designs over every archway that branched off from the main hallway. The floor itself was smooth, and as spotless as the walls. Rhys’ shoes made light echoes as he walked somewhat distractedly across the white and gold mosaic designs that were under foot. The staircase went up to one landing before it separated outward into two sets of stairs and curved back around, reconnected at the landing above. He found himself reaching the open staircase in no time, a hand reaching out touch the smooth wood of the banister.   
  
“Black cherry, a favourable reddish brown with a natural golden luster,” Rhys jumped as the awkward man that had been following quietly behind him spoke, a strange pitch to their voice.   
  
Rhys eyed them, feeling they rather closely resembled that of an opium addict. “Mm, I see Mr. Hanson rather fancies gold, doesn’t he?” Rhys cleared his throat as he swirled a finger around at all the golden designs and additions to everything, all the way down to the golden framed paintings.   
  
“Indeed he does! You have a sharp eye,” their face fell from its unusually wide smile as he seemed to notice that ‘eye’ had a bit more of an accuracy then they may have meant, “ah, no offense intended by that of course- after all, we’ve all got parts of us that are battered, don’t we?”   
  
Rhys frowned; shifting uncomfortably. However before he could give any answer, his gaze was averted to the railing above where he watched Mr. Hanson walk into sight, some kind of cloth in hand as he seemed to rubbing something off of his hands, his eyes lighting up when his gaze met Rhys’.   
  
“Well, hello there!” He gave a good natured laugh, gesturing down to his attire. “And after I teased you about punctuality, you’ve come and caught me under dressed.”   
  
While Mr. Hanson was in fact less dressed up then what Rhys had been expecting, and he wore it well. Casual trousers that had seen many days of work, a sloppily tucked in shirt -that had also been smeared with what Rhys assumed to be coal dust perhaps? -with a light brown vest that matched the belt that hooked around Mr. Hanson’s waist before winding down his one leg, keeping a holster secured to his hip. The holster being empty meant Rhys could only imagine what it was meant to hold. A pair of brass goggles hung around his neck.  “It suits you.”   
  
Mr. Hanson paused with one foot on the steps, blinking before cracking a wide grin, “well, cupcake, you’ll soon find there ain’t a thing I can’t pull off,” he came to the landing in front of Rhys to pause, smirking slightly, “and I mean that in every sense.”   
  
Rhys squinted at him, tilting his head before his face blanked, eyes widening. Shit, what was he supposed to say to something like that? “Is that so?”   
  
Mr. Hanson looked as though he intended to comment further, before his eyes shifted to the other party in the room. “Shade, that’ll be all.”   
  
The man perked up with a another creepily large grin, bowing low while removing the hat from his head, revealing rather scarce amounts of hair before he stood straight again, placing his hat back and fixing his glasses that were far too big for his face. “Of course, I hope you two lads have a wonderful time, from what I hear-“   
  
“That will be all,” Mr. Hanson interrupted, more firmly and just a touch louder with a stoic expression.   
  
The man- Shade- gave an affirmative nod before quickly scampering off toward the door. Rhys found himself shifting uncomfortably again, and not just because all the standing was beginning to make him dizzy. “Is he…?”   
  
“He’s a bit off, yeah. Completely harmless though,” he added, waving off Rhys discomfort. “Well, I thought we’d take to the study while things were finishing up in the kitchen. Follow,” he added curtly as he turned and made his way back up the stairs.   
  
After taking a deep, controlled breath, Rhys followed; still not entirely sure what angle he was supposed to be using. It would seem inappropriate to use the same one he’d had in the drawing room, especially after he’d butchered it when he’d given his last farewell. Perhaps a more reserved approach? Yes, that would have to do…   
  
“Hey, whoa-” Rhys’ head snapped up as he noticed he nearly ran into Mr. Hanson, who was standing gesturing for him to enter an open door.   
  
Rhys bit down on his tongue, almost enough to make it bleed as he gave a small polite smile before venturing into the room ahead. Get your head out of your ass and back on your shoulders, Rhys, he scolded himself as he took to examining the room he was entering.   
  
The study wasn’t necessarily large, as it was simply well furnished in a way that gave the illusion of space. A sizeable desk- likely also made from the same black cherry as the staircase rail had been- sat at the very end of the room across and facing the door; an impressive bookcase (likely also of the same wood) took up the entire left side of the wall with a railed ladder at the disposal of whoever had a need to reach the top of it. Windows were situated on the far side of the wall that gave one the thought that the room would be lit up quite nicely by sunlight if it hadn’t been so late in the day already. With that in mind, the room was lit by lamps hung in the corners of the room, glowing softly with electricity- something that had only been perfected in recent years after the discovery of using steam as a power source. The furniture was all rather simplistic and everything had a kind of… yellow hue to it, from the matching chair to his right, to the lounger to his left; even the curtains had a certain golden pastel vibe.   
  
The door clicking shut behind him brought Rhys out of his little moment of critiquing the man’s personal colour choices. He turned, facing right eyeing the man somewhat curiously as Mr. Hanson leaned back against the door with an equally curious expression; if not with just a hint of… dissatisfaction. Rhys fought the urge to crease his brow and call out the look. As he opened his mouth to simply compliment the place instead- and whether the compliment would have been genuine or not need not matter- he was cut off by Mr. Hanson.   
  
“I feel it is necessary to tell you that this… meeting is merely a formality. Before you arrived I had one of my people take a personal letter to your parent’s dictating that I agreed to all of the terms of our engagement.” Mr. Hanson seemed to pause only long enough to move away from the door, drawing Rhys’ gaze directly to him as he stopped to stand at his left, where he otherwise would have been out of sight if Rhys hadn’t moved his head just enough to keep him in his eye’s view. “So, as aforementioned, this is just a formality.”   
  
Rhys let his eye travel back to the door as Mr. Hanson continued past him, his mind trying to process just… what exactly that meant for him. His teeth grinded into the inside of his cheek as he felt himself clenching a fist; which still ached from the damage Rhys had done to it previously. All that time he’d spent trying to find the perfect mask- to get his makeup just right- it had been pointless, because in less than a minute, Mr. Hanson had shattered it completely.


	7. Business Propositions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it's been awhile, hasn't it? Sorry about that- but I hope you all enjoy the update!
> 
> 03/01/2017: And we're done! See you all with the new chapter!

This was good. This was a  _ good _ thing, so why was he upset by it? He should count his blessings and continue on like this was just some surprising bit of fantastic news. Yet his blood was boiling as he tried his hardest to unclench his burning fist. If Mr. Hanson’s intent had been to go through with it all why hadn’t he simply stated that before now; before Rhys had been forced to suffer his mother’s wraith for his assumed inability to get a job done.   
  
_ That’s _ why he was furious. But still, he could tell his anger was misplaced and he needed to brush over it, he needed to bottle it up and ignore it; at least for now. “Is that so,” he hummed. He would have Fiona praise him later for being able to keep all semblance of emotion from his tone.   
  
Rhys turned to find the man had taken to sitting on top of his desk, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “That’s it? That’s your only thought on the matter?”   
  
He eyed the other man carefully before showing the slightest of shrugging, facing the bookcase now, as if Mr. Hanson was no longer important enough to have his attention; at least not unless Rhys would get the pleasure of wrapping his hands around the man’s stupid neck, the prick. “Well, I feel I already made it clear I hadn’t a care which way this little deal went. It’s all just business in the end, is it not?” Rhys stepped around the lounger, fingers lightly grazing over the spines of a few of the books. Most were leather backed, and seemed to be written in various languages.   
  
“Oh, is that so,” was the tart response which actually made Rhys freeze.   
  
‘ _ You’ve got him smitten with you, Rhys.’ _ Vallory’s words resounded in his head. So she wasn’t wrong after all, it seemed. Perfect, another emotion he’d have to swallow until he got back to the safety of his room; or whichever one his mother decided to throw him into.  _ Dammit, Jack, you should’ve just agreed that it was just business. _ Rhys’ eyes widened, that was the first time he’d ever thought of the man by anything other than Mr. Hanson. “Yes,” he said, maybe just a bit too quickly, “whatever else could it be?” Rhys turned, only slightly, to watch the man’s reaction.   
  
Rhys could tell from one look that Mr. Hanson was sizing him up, trying to figure out what angle he was playing. The only problem was Rhys genuinely wasn’t playing any angle. This was business; plain and simple. The mere thought of it being anything more... unsettled Rhys for a number of reasons. Mr. Hanson didn’t seem to be inclined to answer as he pushed himself from his desk and headed toward a liquor cabinet behind the desk. “Care for a glass? I do apologize, but all the wine I have is red.”   
  
He noticed the shaking in his hand again and smiled politely before declining. The last thing he needed was to fall into another stupor that his mother would find less than satisfactory was to drag him out of. “I do have a question for you, Mr. Hanson.” Rhys piped up as he took a seat on the lounger, crossing one long leg over the other as the other man poured himself a glass of what looked like scotch.   
  
“And what might that be, Mr. Surette?” Something seemed to have put him in a bad mood.   
  
“Why?” Rhys didn’t elaborate, and rather hoped he wouldn’t have to.   
  
Mr. Hanson turned, leaning against the cabinet and staring thoughtfully down at his glass. “In the garden, we talked about quite a few things didn’t we?”   
  
Rhys frowned, not understanding what this had to do with anything. “I suppose. Although to be perfectly honest I found most of the conversation was centered purely on you.”   
  
The other man took a drink before nodding with a hint of a smile. “Indeed it was. You seemed quite curious to know just what I planned to do with all my amassed fame and fortune,”   
  
“And you hadn’t a problem with perfectly detailing every little idea you had.” Rhys vaguely remembered, he certainly knew the man had talked a lot during that night, but the particular time Mr. Hanson was referring to was slowly turning into a bit of a grey area for Rhys, as it was sometime around there that he’d blacked out as he’d down excessive drinking that night.   
  
“Mm. Do you remember at all what you said to me that night in the garden, after my detailed little spiel?”   
  
Rhys shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head slightly. He no longer cared for his mask at this point, he was genuinely curious to know what this had to do with his initial question- if anything. “I do not recall, no.”   
  
Mr. Hanson nodded to himself, clearly aware that Rhys had been far from a line of sobriety that night. Eyeing his drink as he swirled the amber liquid around his glass, he moved to sit in the chair opposite the lounger. “You said I’d be lucky if I didn’t find myself with a knife in my back by week’s end; that no one in a position such as mine should expect longevity to be in the equation.”   
  
Rhys bit the inside of his cheek, trying his best to not change his demeanour. That unfortunately did sound like something an intoxicated Rhys would have said. He had probably been snickering mess while he’d said it too. “And your response to that would have been...?”   
  
“Well, I never got my chance to put a word in as you passed out shortly after that, with very little grace I might add.”   
  
He swallowed, looking away as pink graced his cheeks. “Surely you’re embellishing just a bit.”   
  
Mr. Hanson gave a nonchalant shrug, “don’t believe me- trying asking the maid that picked you up off the floor and dragged you off.”   
  
Rhys looked at the floor with a crushed expression. That would certainly explain why Fiona had woken him more rudely than usual the morning after. However, to avoid dwelling on this embarrassing news, Rhys decided to play his on hand, straightening up and facing the other man with a cleared expression. “So am I-”   
  
“I have a question for you, Rhysie,” Mr. Hanson cut him off with look of complete sincerity.   
  
Although Rhys found it rude of Mr. Hanson to ignore his own question which had been asked first, Rhys still found himself humouring the man. “Then by all means, ask away.”   
  
“How would you avoid the knife?”   
  
Rhys blanked, blinking repeatedly as he was unable to comprehend the question. How would he...? Oh. Rhys tilted his head, frowning as he thought about it. How could he answer that when he wasn’t exactly in any position to have a knife pointed his way? “I wouldn’t.”   
  
Mr. Hanson raised brow. “And what could you possibly mean by that?”   
  
Rhys pursed his lips into a thin line before wetting his lips. “I’m not a fan of making mistakes, and one can never be absolutely certain what another’s motives are unless they’ve done something... wrong, shall we say, to earn that suspicion.”   
  
“So everyone is innocent until proven guilty, then?”   
  
Rhys scoffed with humour in his tone, “no, I just like to know exactly who deserves my wraith, rather than shooting blind. I’ll gladly set myself up as bait if it means I can take out the source and be done with the problem. Why cut the tail when only taking the head can truly stop a snake?”   
  
By now Mr. Hanson had begun sitting forward, glass left empty on the coffee table between them. “And there we have your answer,” he said, sitting back.   
  
Rhys’ brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”   
  
“Well, you were wondering why my interest, yeah? You right here is what’s got me interested; you without all that stupid glamour and fake bullshit dripping off your every word. You ever stop to think that you’re far more appealing without all the bullshit?” Rhys scowled at this, before clearing his throat, attempting put face back on before this turned into a catastrophe, but it appeared Mr. Hanson wasn’t having any of that. “Ut tut tut, no, I wouldn’t go walling yourself back up just yet, princess, ‘cause I got an offer for ya- and the moment you tuck tail, it’s out the window.”   
  
Rhys was bewildered by how quickly Mr. Hanson had thrown sensibility out the window to adopt a casual speech pattern. Fortunately, this... ‘offer’ had Rhys feeling curious. “And what would this offer be exactly, Mr. Hanson?”   
  
“The date of our wedding is set for a month from now. I would like to propose that should you still feel that a union between yourself and I is still less than satisfactory, I’ll more than gladly call it all off.”   
  
Rhys snorted at first, before letting go and just laughed at the offer. “Are you implying that I have a month to fall in love with you, or the wedding is off?” He managed to get out between giggles.   
  
Mr. Hanson eyed Rhys with a grumpy expression. “That’s... no, what I’m saying-”   
  
Rhys held up a hand, and to his surprise it silenced Mr. Hanson immediately. “Call it what you will,” Rhys paused with a humoured smile, “all I have to say is fine. I accept this offer. Let us see if you can woo me within a month’s time.”   
  
Mr. Hanson didn’t appear to appreciate the way Rhys had chosen to word his acceptance, but he made no comment. “Alright. Care to follow me down to the dining room then? It’s only fair I actually feed you now that… our business has been dealt with.” Mr. Hanson started as he stood and gestured toward the door of the study.   
  
“Of course, lead the way...  _ Jack _ .” Mr. Hanson paused halfway to the door, turning to eye Rhys with a curious look. Rhys merely smiled coyly at him. “Something the matter, Mr. Hanson?”   
  
Mr. Hanson squinted at him before refusing to humour him. “Nothing at all, just making sure you didn't trip over the rug, cupcake.” He smiled sweetly while holding the door open for Rhys.   
  
“My, how sweet of you.” Rhys commented as passed by.   
  
“I’m nothing if not a gentleman, Rhysie.” Mr. Hanson responded in a deadpan tone, slipping past Rhys while pulling the door shut so that the flat of the door clipped Rhys in the ass before Hanson made for the stairs ahead of Rhys.   
  
“Catty.” Rhys commented, skulking along behind.   
  
Dinner had been prepared before Rhys had even arrived, kept warm in the kitchen. It was some kind of foreign dish that Mr. Hanson had prepared himself. Since Rhys had never really been one for foods, he couldn’t give much in feedback aside from the occasional hum of appreciation. It was around the end of the meal that a loud crack of thunder caused Rhys to jump and drop his utensil on the floor.   
  
“Jumpy?”   
  
Rhys cleared his throat, “my apologies, I simply just wasn’t expect-”   
  
“Christ, kid, relax would you? I’m only teasing, sweetheart. C’mon, if you’re done we can head up to the sitting room- should be cleaned out by now.”   
  
Rhys raised a brow, but thought it best to leave his question to be forgotten. He followed along out of the dining room and back towards the stairs to the second floor. And despite his best efforts, his mind wandered back to the underlying matter at hand...   
  
That whether he could grow to enjoy the other man's company or not, his mother still seemed heavily inclined to see Rhys marry Mr. Hanson. That alone left Rhys rubbed the wrong way. What exactly was it about Jack that had Mrs. Surette so...  _ set _ upon him? Rhys rather hoped it really was just his mother being infatuated with putting the name 'Hanson' on the Surette family tree. Her display in the foyer the night before still had him offset and unsure of himself in regards to Mrs. Surette’s intentions towards Mr. Hanson.   
  
"Hey, sweetheart, you're spacing out again."   
  
Rhys blinked a few times before being jolted by how closely Mr. Hanson was waving a hand before his eyes. "Oh. Goodness, my apologies.”   
  
Mr. Hanson eyed him curiously for a moment before opening the door to the sitting room and entering in, leaving the door open wide for Rhys to follow. "Originally we would have come to this room in place of the study, but as aforementioned I made a bit of a mess of it before you arrived so I was forced to improvise.”   
  
Rhys picked up on the inflections in Mr. Hanson's tone, now perfectly aware that the man was hoping Rhys would ask exactly what kind ‘mess' it was that Mr. Hanson kept referring too. He rather fancied not giving the man the pleasure, however. “I see,” he smiled politely, eyes travelling across the drawing room. It had the same sort of palette as the study had, right down to the pastel yellow drapes with their golden embroidered designs. The only thing the drawing room seemed to lack was a large desk; though it seemed to make up for that with a grand piano instead, set off in the far corner near a window that was noticeably smaller than the other larger, bay windows. Not that it mattered, all the windows bore the same view of a rainy night with an occasional crack of lightning and roar of thunder. Before Rhys realized he was speaking he said, “do you play?”   
  
Mr. Hanson frowned, confused until he followed Rhys’ gaze to the piano, his lips making a perfect ‘o' shape before he answered. “Oh, yes. Well, less frequently nowadays but, I do in fact still like to torture her now and again. Yourself?”   
  
“No. I never cared for it.” A small, bastard of a lie. Rhys had actually refused to learn as a child out of spite. His mother had been rather well known for her piano playing, and so Rhys refused to even entertain a tutor for an hour of his time. It had in fact been his favourite instrument before he’d learned that trivia about his mother.   
  
“Mm.” Mr. Hanson lazily cocked his head to one side, still eyeing Rhys, who still seemed to be captivated by the wooden thing that he claimed to care not for. “Then what hobby do you partake in?”   
  
Rhys blinked his attention back to the older man. Although it was somewhat customary for nobles and the like to have at least one hobby to boast about in their spare time, Rhys never expecting Mr. Hanson to be one to care for what was a custom, much less make reference. “Fencing.”   
  
That answer seemed to catch Mr. Hanson off guard. “Do you now? I never would have assumed, to be perfectly honest.”   
  
He found himself shrugging in response, eyes wandering away again. “I’ve never been one for stereotypes, Mr. Hanson.” Realizing that answer may have some negative connotation, he allowed his head to drop forward a bit and a small smile to grace his lips, as if he were remembering a fond memory. “Besides, I always found the clash of metal rather suited my lovely singing voice more than the keys of a piano.”   
  
Jack let out one of his seemingly rare laughs that had yet to fail in not drawing Rhys’ direct attention. “You sing? Sweetheart, you really must humour me for a duet sometime, then. Unfortunately you would have to suffer with my pianist skills instead of my sword skills.”   
  
“Most assuredly, and I will certainly try my best to survive until the encore,” Rhys responded in kind, finding his smile growing more genuine.   
  
“Then it’s a plan. For a later date of course, I feel tonight we should still have another sit, chat a bit more.” Mr. Hanson set himself down on one of the loveseats in the room, patting the other cushion gingerly in welcome.   
  
Despite his first impulse telling him to sit his ass else where, he accepted Mr. Hanson’s invitation with an appreciative smile, sitting down a reasonable distance between Mr. Hanson and the love seat's armrest.   
  
“And what topic do you purpose, Mr. Hanson?”   
  
Mr. Hanson shifted, placing an ankle across his knee and facing Rhys. “Your drinking- a habit or has it just been coincidence lately that you have been drunk more often than not?”   
  
Rhys blinked in shock, not even remotely sure of how he was to go about answering such a direct question. “I-”   
  
“Right, a habit. I figured, you’ve been shaking like a leaf since I offered you a drink earlier. Not to mention you seem to have a bit of a cold sweat going for you,” Mr. Hanson pressed a hand to Rhys’ forehead, his other gently holding the younger man’s chin in case Rhys tried to pull away, “I also wouldn’t imagine it farfetched to assume your sobriety tonight wasn’t on your own terms either?”   
  
Again Rhys was speechless, as he rather felt he’d been doing a remarkable job of hiding most of that. “Mr. Hanson, I really-”   
  
“Listen,” Mr. Hanson cut him off.  _ Again _ . “I can understand that your life isn't all it's been cracked out to be, and a lot can happen behind closed doors.” His hand left Rhys’ forehead, but the other still in place. “Besides I think we’ve all had a time where we favoured the bottom of a bottle over the company of others.”   
  
Rhys, finding it distasteful that Mr. Hanson was still speaking over him, pursed his lips into a thin line. “Do you suppose you could quiet yourself for a moment to allow me to get a word in as well?”   
  
“Oh yes of course. What two cents have you?” Said he, taking his other hand away now.   
  
Frowning, Rhys cleared his throat, “well to start, I’d rather like to know whether you’re so keen to talk over me because you simply ache to hear your own voice, or because you value your own assumptions so much that you really must unload them all at once?”   
  
Mr. Hanson paused, squinting slightly as Rhys’ words processed before nodding. “Both. Definitely both, I think.”   
  
“You’re rather insufferable; are you aware of that?”   
  
Mr. Hanson smiled, shifting a bit;  rather resembling a peacock rustling their feathers during the mating season. “Well of course, though I ‘magine it’s a rather witty, charming sort, eh?”   
  
Rhys squinted at him in a puzzled sort of curiosity. But far be it from him to say anything unjust if it would lead back to their original topic. “I suppose one could say something of the sort.” He tossed back with a rather preoccupied sigh, eyes travelling the room again. He decided to take interest in the paintings that decorated the walls of the room instead.   
  
But as per usual, it wasn’t long before Mr. Hanson was doing something draw his gaze back. “I always try to appreciate a good distraction, but I really must persist with our other topic at hand. After all, I wasn’t fibbing when I said all the wine I have is red.”   
  
Although his initial feeling was telling him to defend and avoid, he let out a hallowed laugh instead. “Ah, so the problem isn't the habit itself, but the medium by which I indulge it?”   
  
“I don’t mean to come across that way in the slightest, I just need to know what I’m dealing with; I won’t wholeheartedly support it, but neither will I insist that you never touch a drop of liquor again.”   
  
Rhys blinked with a blank expression for a time, eyes trained on the floor. How was he supposed to respond to that? He wasn’t even sure he knew what Mr. Hanson was talking about anymore. Since he stepped foot in the man’s home everything had had a sort of surreal twist to it.   
  
“I am willing to admit that my drinking is less of a habit and more of a reason to get up each morning since the weather hasn’t been kind enough lately to allow me to garden.” Again, a lie based on partial truth. Rhys did enjoy gardening, and the weather had been less than satisfactory lately- but Rhys was more than happy to drink and tend to his plants.   
  
Mr. Hanson smiled at this, “I see, I see. Than I suppose you’d be most happy to hear I have an indoor greenhouse that’s more than capable of housing numerous plants from all over the world.”   
  
Rhys was in fact rather interested by this. “Completely functional? Those are rare, Mr. Hanson. Could you humour me in how you came to have one?”   
  
“Well, I was rather bored one day with some money to spare so thought I’d get one. Most of the space is taken up just by various types of ivy, and other plants that don’t take much effort to keep alive. It was more of an impulse buy than anything.”   
  
Rhys stared at the older man for over a minute in blank curiosity. “You purchased an entire greenhouse because you were… bored,” he reiterated slowly.   
  
Mr. Hanson nodded vaguely as if that wasn’t at all outlandish or unheard of.   
  
Deciding it was best to just continue on rather than point out what an absurd purchase a greenhouse made for an attempt to sate boredom, he said instead, “I see. Well, I’d be delighted to see it sometime.”   
  
“And see it you will, kitten. But perhaps another time we’ll venture there?”   
  
“Yes. I quite think that I should-” his words were cut off short as a flash of lightening lit up the whole room before everything went simultaneously dark and a loud roaring crack of thunder broke the quiet.   
  
Once the thunder ceased it’s noise Rhys was quite hopeful that in his shock he had grabbed Mr. Hanson’s knee; or at worst the man’s thigh. To his further dismay, the fear of the unknown had his hand locked in place wherever on the other man it was.   
  
“Damn, hopefully Wilhelm won’t be long bringing candles; or if we’re lucky another strike of lightening will have the power back up.” Mr. Hanson didn't appear perturbed by the turn of events in the slightest. “Also, if you could be so kind as to unclench your hand from my thigh, it would be rather appreciated, sweetheart.”   
  
Rhys audibly sighed in relief as he pulled his hand away to the safety of his own lap. His own sound alleviation elicited one of humour from Mr. Hanson.   
  
“Thought you might’ve grabbed somewhere else, did ya?” The lack of response seemed to be as good as a declaration of agreement as Mr. Hanson continued with a somewhat teasing tone. “It would have been an understandable accident, after all in pitch dark such as this, well anything could happen.”   
  
Rhys swallowed, still red from having his primary fear being thrown in his face. “Doesn’t mean anything should.” He sulked, trying to still the pounding in his chest.   
  
“And why not?”   
  
It was a fair question, Rhys would suppose, but not one he thought he’d be expected to answer. “Well... why should we have to knit in such an obscene condition?”   
  
There was an expected pause. “Why… why would we be knitting?”   
  
“You said anything could happen, did you not?”   
  
A low chuckle came from strangely close, as did the following sentence, “you are a peculiar fellow, Rhys Surette.”   
  
He swallowed as he could feel the other man’s breath against the side of his neck, fingers gracing his chin before cupping the side of his face turn his head in the direction of the other man. “Says the one who bought an entire greenhouse with pocket change,” he muttered back, trying to place exactly where Mr. Hanson was in relation to himself.   
  
A soft laugh reached his ear as he raised a hand against the man’s chest as Mr. Hanson leaned forward, the light scruff across his jawline scraping against Rhys’ cheek as his breath tickled the younger man’s ear. “What is it you want from life, Rhysie? If you could have anything in the world- what would it be?”   
  
He had no idea how to respond to such a question, whispered to him in the dead of night, in complete darkness; so he didn’t. “Why do you ask?”   
  
“Because, I bet I could give it to you. Whatever it is that little heart of yours wants; material, immaterial, I bet you anything I could make it yours.”   
  
The hand that was against Mr. Hanson’s chest tangled itself in the fabric of his shirt as Rhys exhaled a small breath, moving his face so he was cheek to cheek with the older man. “I know you could, and it terrifies me,” he replied in a hushed whisper as another flash light up the night sky with a deep echo of thunder to follow. And it didn’t seem to surprise Rhys in the slightest that the power flickered back on at once.   
  
The development however also meant that whatever moment that had been shared between the two men needed to be left as it was and moved passed. Probably. Rhys actually had no idea what was to happen next. Luckily the chiming of a familiar sort of bell from somewhere down the hall outside of the drawing room gave him his solution and he smirked. “Another one of your impulse buys, I presume?”   
  
Mr. Hanson shared his amusement, moving his face to nose the inside of Rhys’ neck. “Nah, that one was actually a bit of a necessity.”   
  
Rhys hummed with a touch of whimsy. “No doubt. You should probably check to see who’s ringing then. It may be of some importance.”   
  
Mr. Hanson released a displeased breath against Rhys’ neck before defeatedly pulling away from the younger man. “Unfortunately you may be right. I’ll be back shortly, but by all means, make yourself at home.”   
  
Rhys nodded, somehow unable to make himself meet Ja-  _ Mr. Hanson’s _ eye… “Of course.” He smiled, looking around the once again wonderfully lit room as if for something to distract himself with until the older man returned. “Perhaps I’ll give the ivory’s a tickle,” he joked.   
  
“Whatever suits your fancy, pumpkin,” Mr. Hanson replied before exiting the room, leaving Rhys with just himself and his thoughts.   
  
And a heart that seemed bent on beating a hole through his ribcage.


	8. Lightning and Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm not dead! But there are a few things I gotta inform everyone on, such as that I've rewritten portions of the fic prior to this chapter because I reread it recently and hply heck I didn't realize just how much stuff I'd accidently left out while editing various chapters (yikes!).
> 
> Also Rhys' surname has changed because his original surname was just a place holder I intended on changing after the teaser but never got around to it, so for those that don't care to reread (and trust me I don't blame ya) the fic, I'll just tell ya right now that Rhys' surname is Surette now. Rhys Surette.
> 
> I'll definitely babble more at the end note, so if you make that far, see ya then! If you don't, see you next chapter!

The storm continued to rage outside, large drops splattering against every window in the drawing room as the youth layed quietly on his side, appreciating how plush the loveseat's cushions felt. It's not as though Rhys ever intended to actually use the piano, he was loosing so much energy trying to keep up with everything being thrown his way. He was acutely aware of what Mr. Hanson was doing, but as to why had him confused.   
  
Mr. Hanson was doing the same thing he'd been doing in their second meeting in the Surette townhouse; trying to seduce him through sexual means. And although Rhys wasn't entirely unappreciative for the distraction this made, as the night wore on he was loosing his apetite for the sex-appeal angle. That and he'd never really had much a libido in the first place, even if Mr. Hanson was putting that to a test.   
  
Of course it  _ was _ Rhys who had teased the older man by telling him to 'woo' Rhys. Romantic gestures would have been preferred maybe, but to each their own.   
  
Even so, Rhys still couldn't be sure as to why exactly Mr. Hanson was so...  _ smitten _ with him (fuck, he was beginning to hate that word). Just Rhys on his own didn't sound very appealing to him... Though that could be because he wasn't really his own type.   
  
But perhaps Mr. Hanson was one of  _ those _ people. So bored and lonely that the first half-decent individual to come his way seemed optimal for him to toy with until he eventually grew bored again. Rhys had caught the attention of more than enough people like that; the only difference was that they were usually much older and by far less appealing, and really the only thing that could be considered attractive about them would be the countless amounts of cash at their behest. But Rhys had never really fancied money, thus why he generally just wrote anyone fiting this description off and generally avoided them unless told to do otherwise.   
  
Rhys shifted onto his back, bending his knees and placing the soles of his shoes against the armrest of the loveseat, pushing himself up so his head was against the opposite armrest as he continued with this train of thought. That would explain his impulses to push and pull at the other man. A bit of a chase always made for a more fun experience; and if all Mr. Hanson was really looking for was a new toy, then Rhys would have to prove that Mr. Hanson wouldn't get all he could out of him in a month, therefore sealing the marriage. After all, Rhys still had to keep in mind that no matter what, Mrs. Surette wanted to him to marry Mr. Hanson.   
  
Squeezing his eyes shut he pressed his hands to his face as his head continued to ache. The roughness by which he did this caused a bit of irritation to his hands and Rhys let out an aggravated noise as he pulled his hands back to glare at the bandages over them. With a laboured sigh he rolled his head to look over at the piano, and made one final decision before getting up and going over to it. The decision was this: Rhys would continue to let Mr. Hanson lead their interactions and Rhys could sort out all of his thoughts  _ after _ he returned home. It was a reasonable compromise, all things considered. After all, his instincts hadn't failed him yet.

Rhys didn't let the solitude bother him as he walked over to the piano, tapping his knuckles lightly across the smooth wood. He needed to clear his thoughts, or at least replace them and he figured this was better than nothing. The keys were expectedly cool to the touch as Rhys gently settled himself on the cushioned bench, breathing out as he tried to remember even a simple scale. Instead he remembered probably the only thing he'd bothered to learn on piano.

Although the particular piece was meant to be played by a string orchestra, he'd taught himself an adapted version that fit with the keys of a piano. Rhys would never hesitate to agree that it was best on violin but piano was the only instrument he'd ever had at his behest. Even if he was spiteful towards the instrument because of his mother, in the end, Fiona had loved to hear him play, and that had been enough for him to learn at least something at the time; the time being before he drank like a fish.   
  
Trailing off on thoughts of the past, Rhys grimaced as his finger hit a wrong note. It wasn't terribly off-key or anything, an untrained ear wouldn't have noticed it at all. A flash of lightening broke the sky outside the window to his left, and at the sound of thunder he resumed again, fingers carefully finding the right keys. The song was a beautiful composition that was like any other Rhys had ever heard and he had always been certain to never share his love for it with anyone, not even Fiona knew how much he truly felt for the song.   
  
Rhys' hand sunk down, his foot gently easing down on a pedal that left the note hanging. The next few notes were the softest, as if leading up to a close; Rhys didn't make it to even the next note before he heard the door of the drawing room open quietly, as if not to disturb him.   
  
He turned away from the keys to face Mr. Hanson who seemed to hesitate in the doorway before scooting in with a somewhat regretful look. Had he been listening? "Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt you or anything."   
  
"It's fine. I was just passing time." Rhys responed with an idle wave of his hand.   
  
Mr. Hanson nodded slowly, something conflicted present in his expression. "That piece... It's an interesting choice."   
  
Rhys shrugged, moving to stand away from the piano. "Well it's the only one I know. I apologize if it has negative affects or anything at all..."   
  
"Oh-oh no, quite the opposite, my... I knew someone once who used to play it on the cello," Mr. Hanson shook his head out of it's train of thought. It was clear that there was something else he considered saying, but had thought it best not to. And Rhys certainly wasn't about to insist he do. "Anyways, the landline, your mother." He somewhat mumbled, apparently still trapped in a ghost of a memory that wasn't so willing to let him go.

Rhys tilted his head slightly, unsure if he was feeling concern for the other man’s distracted gaze, or just curiousity. “I see, I’m sure it is getting rather late after all. I’d also hate to overstay my welcome.” He made some effort to not sound rude as he made it clear he was heading to the door to leave.

Mr. Hanson looked up with an apprehensive look in his eyes as he frowned. “You're not leaving.”

Despite feeling he may have heard wrong, Rhys’ eyes immediately travelled to the closed door that Mr. Hanson stood in front as he took an apprehensive stance. “I’m sorry?”

Mr. Hanson cleared his throat, letting out and awkward chuckle as he weakened his own stance as he seemed to realize how threatening his comment must have sounded. “Forgive me, what I meant was that you’ll be staying here for the evening. The storm is heading toward the city after all so it would be safer to avoid any plausible accidents. Your mother has already given her, uh, blessings or whatever.”

Rhys tilted his head slightly, “well alright then, as long as I’m not over staying my welcome or anything I’d be happy to stay.” Well, not really. Rhys would rather head back home to get hammered and crack all of the events of this evening up to being apart of some mass fever dream.

“I assure you, you’re always welcome here, Rhysie. Within reason. Tuesdays are no good, for example.”

Rhys frowned, hesitant to follow as Mr. Hanson made leave of the drawing room. “But isn't today Tuesday, Mr. Hanson?”

“Huh… right you are, Rhys. I guess you'll be leaving after all. Go on, out with you.”

The younger man’s eyes widened as he looked out the nearest window as a particularily loud crack of thunder rolled over head. By the time his eyes came back Mr. Hanson the man was smiling widely, which shouldn't have flustered Rhys quite like it did as he ran his right hand through his hair and looked meekly at the floor. “A joke, I see.”

“A joke indeed. Follow along then.” Mr. Hanson said, again his words giving the illusion of choice before his actions made it clear Rhys did not have such a thing. Looping his right arm through Rhys’ left Mr. Hanson began to make his way through the halls of his home, dragging Rhys along at his side.

“May I assume you’re showing me to where I’ll be staying for the night?” Rhys managed to pip up.

“Well of course. The best room my estate has to offer will be yours tonight.”

“Oh. I- I appreciate the offer, but really any room will suite me fine,” Rhys replied in a small voice, unsure how he was supposed to perceive Mr. Hanson’s current actions.

Mr. Hanson paused them in their walk in front of a set of two identical doors set symmetrically to one another. Unlocking his arm from Rhys’ he put some distance between them before giving a response. “I figured you’d be humble, but let me make something clear- you may be the guest but this is still my house, so either you follow me, or I’m sure Shade would enjoy some company in the barn for the night.” He flashed his perfect teeth in a Cheshire cat grin before pulling the doors open and then sliding back an accordion grate to reveal a rather small… and actually rather… shaky looking… well it wasn't really big enough to be considered a room… a closet maybe…

Rhys gave it one heavily judging look before smiling sweetly. “The barn would be which way?”

A boyish grin stretched across Mr. Hanson’s face as he recieved Rhys’ sass well, and then even went so far as to take him by surprise (literally) by sliding an arm around Rhys’ waist and hailing him into the small space, the floor sinking under their added weight. Rhys instinctively reached for the only solid thing in the room as his eyes widened. Mr. Hanson, being said solid thing, chuckled as Rhys clung to him. “Don't worry, kitten, Jack’s got ya.” He teased as he reached out to push a round brass button with a rather worn looking four on it.

“Mr. Hanson, wait-” the floor shuddered underfoot and he watched in mute shook as the hallway outside began to leave his range of sight. “ _ Jack _ .”

Mr. Hanson let out a growling laugh as he squeezed Rhys tight against him, so close that he could feel the man’s laughter rumble through his chest, which wasn't… well it wasn't a bad feeling, just… oh, nevermind. “Never been on a lift before, Rhys?”

A spark caught in the back of Rhys’ mind as he let out a “oh.” His wonderment soon passed enough for him to muster an unamused look for the man next to him. “That really wasn't fair, Mr. Hanson. A warning would have been nice.”

“Oh, I’m sure it would have been, but that little trick brought us even closer than the power going out, now hasn’t it?”

Rhys flustered immediately as he started backing away from Mr. Hanson. But between the lack of room in the lift and Mr. Hanson pulling the younger man back into his arms, Rhys didn't really get his way. Which he was… well… oh, never mind. “Be that as it may…” Rhys quickly trailed off as Mr. Hanson placed a large hand at the flat of his back, the other holding him firmly around the waist while he buried his face into the crook of Rhys’ neck. 

Uncertainly, he placed his own around the other man, and conceding that whatever it was that Mr. Hanson was doing- it was certainly working better at clouding his ability to think better than kind of alcohol. The sound of gears grinding and turning soon taking his attention as he didn't know what else to do until he felt teeth scrape against his throat.

Taking in a sharp breath, he continued to do so as he wrestled in Mr. Hanson’s grasp. “What was that for?!”

“You stopped breathing for a while there, kiddo.” 

“Yeah, it happens- why does that constitute you biting me?!”

“You're breathing again, aren’t’cha? Besides, I didn't technically bite you.  _ This _ would be me bi-”

“ _ Don’t you dare _ .” Rhys shifted his weight around to get himself away from the man’s mouth.

“I’m teasing, kitten.” Mr. Hanson hummed, nosing against Rhys’ throat in an… well, not unpleasant way…. 

“Yes, you seem to do that a lot.” Rhys spoke, scattering any impure thoughts quickly as he made sure to take calm, steady breaths, both to still his racing heart, and so Mr. Hanson wouldn't catch him not-breathing again.

“Well, you’ve got me there.” Rhys felt teeth nip his throat again as Mr. Hanson released him in time with the lift that had just come to a shuddering stop. “Follow me to your accommodations.”

Just when Rhys thought he might have the chance to not oblige, Mr. Hanson fooled him again by catching a hold on his wrist and dragging him out since the grate had never been closed again and there were no other doors blocking access from the lift directly into the single room waiting beyond.

The room itself was lit by what Rhys first assumed was petrol flame until he peered closer at the soft violet hues that bled into an indigo blue and flickered unlike anything he’d ever seen. At the center of the room was a large bed, with thin pillars where one would have expected bedposts. Each side had thin golden cashmere drapes perfectly pinned back on all sides, perfectly accentuating the plush bed that was clearly well kept. 

Rhys paused two exact steps into the room while Mr. Hanson walked ahead, clearly very familiar with the room. Rhys swallowed as he felt heat rising in his face as he looked to his right around the neatly kept room to where a door clearly lead to the on-suite bathroom, and then to the left where another door lead to what he assumed to be a balcony area. “This… this wouldn't happen to be your personal chambers… would it?” 

Mr. Hanson finally removed his worn goggles from around his neck, placing them down gently on one of two nightstands that were symmetrically placed on either sides of the head of the bed. “Well that was the original plan when I designed it, but seeing as I make more use of study’s lounger or my office’s couch, it’s really just a spare room.” he graced a hand carefully against one of the drapes, pulling it free from whatever pinned it without ease as he looked around the room slowly. “Haven't been up here in weeks, actually. Maybe months.”

Rhys found his hands were clasped together as he started wringing them anxiously, feeling like he was somehow intruding somewhere he shouldn't. “I see, well, I really wouldn't mind using another room, honestly, you should be the one to stay here-”

“Nonesense. Besides I have some work I need to get done that I’ve been procrastinating and a room this great ought to be used by someone. A few things though- first off, bathroom is to your right, where you should also find a closet; help yourself to whatever bed wear suits your fancy seeing as I doubt you came prepared to spend the evening.” Mr. Hanson paused only long enough for this to sink in for Rhys before he continued. “Unnecessary power gets shut off…” he trailed off for a moment to seek out a large clock that stood in the corner over Rhys’ left shoulder, “fairly soon, so that means the lift will be off, but just ring any of those bells over there if you absolutely need anything before seven in the am, which is when all that junk gets turned back on. Of course this room itself along with other choice rooms in the house run on a separate more reliable power source that doesn't turn off or anything so you don't have to worry about the lights going out or for anything in the restroom over yonder to stop working. Also if in the morning you feel the need to clean by bath or what have you, by all means, feel free.”

Rhys waited exactly five seconds before deciding that Mr. Hanson was likely finished speaking. “Alright. I appreciate your, uh… hospitality and everything…”

“Not a problem, anything for- oh actually there's one more thing I almost forgot to show you, get over here.” Mr. Hanson bounced onto the bed, settling down on the bed that was Rhys’ left, but Jack’s right side. He patted the other side of the bed in waiting.

Rhys squinted at him, looking from the bed to the man waiting almost patiently. The patients wore thin quickly when after a solid minute Rhys had barely moved. Mr. Hanson groaned, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Rhys I don't have all night; get your ass over here already.” 

Shrinking a bit in stance, Rhys obeyed, but settled on the bed in a way that left the most space possible between himself and the other man without also resulting in falling off the edge of the bed.

“What, scared I’ll bite ya?” He winked before his hand reached up to where an ornate bell cord was hanging. Rhys’ gaze was quickly drawn to the wall at his back once Mr. Hanson pulled down, the sound of gears grinding just beyond it unmistakable. His eyes travelled around the room, looking to see what had changed but, no matter where he looked he found the room had not changed at all. Frowning his eyes returned to where Mr. Hanson had adapted a cocky smirk. “Look up, sweetheart.”

And Rhys did, flinching immediately when he thought for sure a large rain drop was just about to collide with his head, only to find it had landed on glass instead. In fact the ceiling above the bed was no longer a plain white panel, but a convex ceiling made of thick, clear glass. “This is-” his words froze in his throat as lightning split the sky, a blinding white with hints of green left as it faded into the starless sky, a low rumble following soon after, “breathtaking.”

“Hoped you’d like.” Rhys looked away from the fantastic view above him to find that Jack also had lost his attention to the sky. “You get the second most beautiful view in the world right above your head tonight, Rhys.”

Rhys furrowed his brow at Jack’s choice of wording. “If that’s the second… what’s the first?”

“Well, you're lookin’ at it aren't’cha?” At that moment the man’s gaze shifted as he held Rhys’ surprised gaze.

A cheeky grin crossed Rhys’ face, “well I guess now’s a bad time to tell you I’m admiring my reflection in your eyes.”

Once Jack caught on to Rhys’ comment, he started shaking his head with an amused smile. “And you had the audacity to wonder why I liked you.”

Rhys laid back calmly against the numerous pillows that managed to rival the outrageous amount he usually kept on his own bed. Something about the atmosphere in the room had him more relaxed than he ever imagined being while in the presence of someone he barely knew. That or maybe it was the temperature of the room. The entire estate was actually rather warm considering Rhys was certain he hadn't seen a single fireplace at all since he’d arrived. 

But despite his desire to ask why that was, he found himself already drifting off as he watched Jack, whose gaze had already shifted back to the dark sky that was still illuminated by the small sliver of a moon that managed to peek through the clouds from time to time, or the flash of lightening, that mixed well with the soft glow of the room across Jack’s strong features.

He was certain he heard Jack say something but he was well on his way into a comfortable sleep by the time his companion realized he wasn't listening.  _ Can’t everything just stay like this? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so assuming a lot of you don't care about my poor editing skills and are only here to eventually see these two bang and/or engage in holy matri-whatever, I'll just spill the beans right now that in a later chapter you'll all get to meet Rhys' brother who I accidently forgot to mention //literally// in the first chapter. Like I had it in there and everything but then somewhere during editing I was just like "nah I'll add into some other chapter." but then I never did that either so whupteedo shrödingers cat is alive and outta the bag now.
> 
> Furthermore, in a prior chapter Rhys now says "finely chilled legumes," somewheres and it is hilarious so I'mma just share that with all of you right now because I am a child and that line makes me laugh everytime I remember it.
> 
> Also did anyone else notice that I completely forgot about Rhys' hands being mcfrigged up in the last chapter? Because I did. Jack still hasn't noticed though for obvious reasons, but I'uhno I feel like that's something I shouldn't have forgotten so I fixed that too.
> 
> Okay, well that's everything from the expired coconut section, hopefully I'll have a new chapter coming your way before 2018! Until then, bye!


End file.
